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[h2][color=0054a6]Richard Barker[/color][/h2]
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A lowered, yet audible voice with a gurgling quality made itself known to Richard...somewhere around him - his Earth-bound senses refusing to tell him the voice's origin being in his own damned head - telling him how dreadful Hollywoodland must have been. The P.I. turned around on his seat, looking over his shoulder in search of the voice, though only finding the casual disturbance one would naturally find in a seedy establishment such as this. 

Someone, a fancily dressed man - a dapper Sheik one might call him, just like one of those beloved idols from the silver screen or magazines - bursted out in annoyance about what Richard thought was "holy magic on this imp...", whatever that was supposed to be. Shaking his head, Richard slowly turned back towards the counter, unprepared for what he was about to witness. 

[color=0054a6]"Sounds like someone's had a little too many glasses of giggle-juice. Anyway, can't fault you there, Pal. Hollywood, and California in general sounds too much like flim-flam to me. Still. those that chase that West Coast dream of fame, fortune and future, I hope they find out..."[/color]

Another blind swig of the whiskey had kept Richard busy from actually seeing the source of the voice. The source? An imp...

[color=0054a6]"...I think I'm behind the 8-ball...what the hell did I just drink?"[/color]